Staring at my Bedroom Ceiling
by skinnyrita
Summary: one-shot thoughts of DM as he contemplates a stolen letter and a certain witch as he lies on his bed and stares at his ceiling. written at the request of Fantasy101. please review.


**Staring At my Bedroom Ceiling.**

**A one-shot story by the acclaimed skinnyrita (ho ho)**

_This is a story for Fantasy101 who liked my other Draco-centric fic so much that she asked me to do another one. I'm finally getting round to it and I hope you all like it. Must point out firstly that this is not a sequel to the other one and is totally unconnected in terms of content. Thank you. The whole story is from the point of view of our young Mr Malfoy…_

Here I am. Again. Lying on my back, on my bed, with the curtains drawn. Staring. At my bedroom ceiling.

How dramatic.

Actually, it's been bloody boring. Sad that I seem to spend most of my time lying here at the moment, just staring and thinking about how tediously my holidays are going. If I opened those curtains, which I can in no way at all be bothered to do, I would see a failed potion that has bubbled over and is steadily burning a hole through the floor, a stack of Transfiguration homework I really don't want to look at, and a note from Chang to Potter that I found in the library.

It's a soppy letter; I'm really not surprised that Potter tried to hide it in a book. It begins 'Darling Harry', for Christ's sakes. That in itself would make me want to vomit. If Pansy ever gave me such a sickly epistle of devotion it'd cast an incendio on it in her face. The thought of that, not too unlikely, really makes me shudder.

Why then, do _I_ have that letter? Is it ammunition? Nope. I mean, please, I think we're all too old to be reading out each other's personal memos in high-pitched voices in the corridors. I am, at any rate. I can't speak for Potter. So what on earth is it for? That is what I myself have been lying here pondering for the last three hours solid. This ceiling is luckily not too completely dull, however. In true pomp father had it decorated with a large diagram of the internal effects of some of the more potent curses. Very educational, and rather interesting. Where the paint has begun to crack a little over the years, you can see the outline of snakes and many shades of green –the previous décor. The man being hexed with a flesh-eating curse also has a snake tail protruding out of his head, which makes him far more comical. When I'm especially bored I wonder what he could be thinking. It's a pity, really, that my ceiling isn't enchanted. I thought about attempting some kind of transformation, but I'm not that cruel.

I doubt Father knows anything at all about the state of my ceiling. He hardly ever comes in here.

When he does, I don't always know he's there. I'm in bed reading the legend of Morag the Marred, and suddenly he's just there. Appearing in the moonlight. I don't even hear him opening the bed curtains. He never touches me. Never. The only touch he's ever offered me is with the end of his stick to nudge me in the right direction. If we didn't look like such carbon copies of each other, you'd never know we were even related. Sometimes, on these nighttime jaunts, he doesn't even speak, just registers whatever book I've got open, as if he needs to vet my literature, then leaves. Mostly, he looks at me and asks me if I've discovered where Potter's new hideout is. I never have. I don't know how he can expect me to ever find out. I don't want to know anything about Potter. Then he says 'Goodnight, Draco,' and is gone. If I didn't know better I'd say he disapparated.

It's true; I don't care about Potter much anymore. Yes, I hate him. I've hated him ever since he refused to shake my hand. Now I think, it's better that he didn't.

I don't care about Potter per say… but this letter from Chang's got me riled. No, it's not like you think. Potter can have Chang, if he even wants her, which I doubt he does if he's so keen to hide her notes… but why the hell Potter? Why does everyone like him? Personally, I think he's an arrogant git. I could be called a hypocrite for that, I have been by many people, mainly my own conscience. But his conceited nature is obvious to me, with all his little sucking up to the teachers, and the way he makes his so-called friends fetch and carry for him as if he's some sort of God… Crabbe and Goyle are my associates, like Father has associates. I wouldn't ever cheapen their roles by referring to them as my friends.

But enough of that. That is not the reason I am staring at my ceiling.

I'm sixteen. I will admit that I think I'm pretty good-looking. Anyone who tells you that they don't know they're good-looking, is a liar. A vain liar fishing for compliments. I'm rich. Hell: I'm VERY rich, and the world knows it. I'm a pureblood, and I'm smart and when I turn on the charm it's a promise that I'll follow through. So why does Potter get love letters from Chang, and Weaslette and all the others who keep throwing themselves at the hero's feet, and I'm the one left out in the cold?

I've been thinking about this for three hours. Nearly. I'm getting a little desperate. And that's not something I want to admit to.

Why did Potter get that bloody letter? The one now lying on my bedside table. Why didn't I get one? Pansy's written me hundreds, but what's the point if they're all from the same bloody person? Perhaps that's it. Perhaps they all think… oh God. Surely people haven't assumed I'm going out with that idiot? I'd sooner kiss Granger.

I'd sooner kiss Granger.

I'm sitting bolt upright now, the ceiling instantly forgotten: I'd sooner kiss Granger. Oh Christ, I really would. Now I can't stop thinking about her! Argh! No! The way her hair falls across her forehead and across her nose when she shakes her head and I can tell it really annoys her because she keeps trying to tuck it back behind her ears. Her right hook –not good to be on the receiving end of, I can tell you from experience. Her intellect, the way she raises one eyebrow when Weasley asks her some dumb-ass question, the shape of her mouth when she's concentrating… oh shit! Now I can't stop imagining what it would be like to kiss her! Help! Ok think about Snape. He's an ugly sod… Snape in the buff, Snape in the shower… Snape singing in the shower! Mmm, Granger. No!

Must concentrate on what I was thinking about before.

What was it?

Oh: why can't I get a girlfriend.

Because you fancy Granger?

No way! I'd probably get some weird muggle-inflicted disease. I'll stick to Pansy.

I'd sooner kiss Granger… 

Oh, Hell. 

* * *

disclaimer -I do not own Hermione, Draco, Harry, the Weasleys... no, not even Draco's bed. 

**review!** especially if your name is Fantasy101!

love, rita xxxx


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